I’m ready to turn off my light now. The bright glow from the bulb will still be in front of me when I close my eyes and rest my head on my pillow. It’s amazing that when the rods and cones of the retina are stimulated by light that the brightness continues for seconds after you close your eyes.
Relationships are supposed to be the same way. That image of the person and the feelings you have for them are supposed to continue until you see them again. It’s what keeps our feelings in check when we are apart. Sobriety is giving me clear enough thinking to re-evaluate why that bright spot seems so dim. Today’s meal was the second date of my Homewood experience and it has left me wondering exactly what I am feeling. You know Dasher and Dancer. Sleep tight.
Day Fourteen.
Monday, June 6, 2005.
This is the start of my third week at Homewood. Last week they moved me downstairs because I guess I can be trusted a bit more now. My new roommate is another Italian guy. He’s hilarious and loves sports. Especially the Cleveland Browns. I call him Cleveland.
There’s another guy on our floor, with astonishingly blue eyes and blond hair. He’s a rascal. He likes to glorify the old days of using and I know he shouldn’t be doing that. That is a dangerous line to walk. It’s one thing to talk about your past experiences, but exalting them is very triggering for yourself and for those around you.
Yesterday, Blue Eyes and three others went to one of the gorges for a swim. He took one of the young nurses. Not the one I typically hang around with. He tried to take another girl, too, but she realized what was going on and she got out of the van very quickly. They were planning to use.
Obviously, using while in program is not tolerated, so he and the other guy who picked up the drugs were asked to leave Homewood. I felt bad at first but then realized he was putting us all in jeopardy. I identified with him because he also had three daughters and was only in his late thirties.
I’m journaling about this today because I just found out he overdosed and died last night.
Those blue eyes will never shine again. His kids are left without a father.
We’re all devastated. Cleveland and I talked tonight about how lucky we are that it wasn’t us. So many addicts relapse and go back to the same dose they used before. Their tolerance has dropped in the meantime, causing them to inadvertently overdose.
We talked about how this place is like a reality show—except, for us, the consequences are all too real.
I plan to get up early tomorrow and go to the gym to shoot some hoops before morning walk. I’m very sad about Blue Eyes but we almost get hardened to an addict dying because it’s so common. I am going to not allow his death to be in vain. It has just made me more adamant to stay on track.
Nighty night, Blue Eyes.
Day Fifteen.
Tuesday, June 7, 2005.
Today it was my turn to speak at recovery group. I’ve been thinking about what’s really been bothering me. I keep coming back to my brother’s death.
I’ve dealt with it very poorly, drowning myself with drugs and trying to numb away the guilt and pain. Now that I’m sober, all of my feelings about it are so overwhelming.
I explained the situation to my group today. What had happened and how I was almost angry with him for putting me in that situation in the first place. I felt guilty then about being angry with him.
Others in the group shared their similar stories. It made me feel less alone, knowing that others have experienced loss, causing them to either relapse or to have their addiction accelerate.
The facilitator of the group asked me to write a letter to bring to the meeting tomorrow. I just finished writing it tonight, on a yellow legal pad.
“Guy. You were four-and-a-half years older than me. Much bigger than me. You always protected me. I always looked up to you my entire life. I felt so helpless when I saw you not doing well, and instead of helping you, I pulled away from you. It wasn’t because I didn’t care about you, it’s just that I’ve always seen you as my hero and I didn’t know how to help you. That day, when I turned you away? I wish I’d been more empathetic, but I don’t blame myself anymore, Guy. I really believe that when you woke up that morning, you were destined to die that day. I don’t know why I believe that, but I do. If nothing else, it helps me get some peace.
“It’s funny. The week before you died, you told me that you loved me, probably for the first time in ten years. It was almost like you knew something was going to happen. Maybe you did.”
“I love you and hope to see you someday in heaven. Your only brother, Grant.”
Day Sixteen.
Wednesday, June 8, 2005.
I’m discovering that many of the people in here also have other issues. Not only are they addicted to drugs, but there are other conditions such as post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), depression, anxiety, anorexia, or other mood disorders. A psychiatrist sees these patients regularly to help them with these issues. There’s a special unit here for eating disorders, and PTSD that people go to (if needed) after their time in the addictions (HADS) unit.
One of the issues I’ve observed is that many of us have resentments. I guess it’s one of the reasons that resentments are in the twelve steps.
My recovery group facilitator asked us to bring a little rock and closed-toed shoes to our session today. I couldn’t figure out why, but I obliged.
We were told to place the rock in our shoe and walk around for the day. She asked us later that day to share what we’d discovered. The only thing that I’d noticed was that, at first, the rock wasn’t uncomfortable. It was just annoying. Then, it became increasingly sore, to the point where it was just hurting me. All I had to do was take it and throw it away and it would be okay.
She explained that this is how resentment works. We choose to hold on to resentments when we can just let them go at any time, and the pain goes with them. When we let go, they can’t hurt us anymore.
That’s why we wrote those letters yesterday. Whether it’s a letter, or a conversation about how we’re being treated, letting go of resentment is powerful.
Today, we learned to talk to that person for whom we’re holding resentment, about how they’re making us feel. Not about confronting them about how they wronged us, but how they made us feel. Because, you can’t argue with someone about how they make you feel.
When you’re talking about your own feelings, you’re certainly entitled to let someone know they made you feel that way. This has been a big step for me. I’ve never thought about this before. I’m now acutely aware that I may have hurt people.
The other part of this is that I’ve allowed so many people to cross my boundaries because of my people-pleasing tendencies. I’ve never let them know how they were making me feel (overwhelmed).
Tonight, I’m going to bed feeling less overwhelmed. I’m not going to allow people to affect my mental health by putting too much on me. I will no longer allow the trickle effect that has on my family. I have to learn how to use a word that is hard for me to say: “No.”
It’s 11:30 p.m. now. Lights out. Please help me to learn to say no when it’s in my best interest.
Grant me the ability to say no gracefully.
Day Seventeen.
Thursday, June 9, 2005.
I’m now smoking half a pack a day. I’m going to have some work to do when I get out. But I’ve detoxed from opioids, so nicotine should be a breeze, right? I’ll worry about that in eleven days from now.
There are twelve-step meetings every day at Homewood. They’re either in the physical Homewood building, or somewhere within walking distance. They consist of Narcotics Anonymous, Alcoholics Anonymous, Cocaine Anonymous, and Gamblers Anonymous. I’ve attended all the different meetings, just to get a feel for what they’re like. I also want to feel comfortable in the rooms of all the meetings just in case I ever need them in the future. The Narcotics Ano
nymous is the meeting I’ve attended most. It takes place in the basement of Homewood and is chaired by this tall Latino guy who’s missing one ear.
I’m so curious about what happened to his ear. A lot of people here have had drug debt and have been beaten up or maimed in an attempt to collect or to send a message. Some people still owe money and that’s where their sponsor comes in. The sponsor will often accompany someone back to pay the debt. It’s very dangerous to go back into a drug house alone in early sobriety. Dealers will often offer free samples to get recovering addicts back as customers. Or so I’m told.
A lot of people who live around Guelph pick up sponsors while in Homewood. I made a phone call home to find mine. The thought of going to meetings back home makes me cringe. It’s such a small place and everyone knows me as Dr. Matheson. But I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. Now I’m just happy to have someone. He’s been sober for twenty-four years.
The profile of the people coming into Homewood is changing. There are a lot of cross-addicted individuals. There are two types of meetings. One was the speaker meeting in which a person stands up and shares his or her story with the crowd. The other is discussion style where we break into groups, sit in circles, and take turns talking about our day and what’s on our mind. Some people don’t like meetings, but I do.
I try to focus on our similarities and not our differences.
One man at a speaker meeting told us a story about how twenty years ago he backed over his nephew with his car, killing him. Even twenty years later, he still cries.
I immediately thought, that could have happened to me.
I know these meetings are going to be an important part of my recovery. For the first year I will go often because it will help me, and I’ll be able to lend an ear to someone else in time of need.
These twelve-step programs are often said to be spiritual-based and they are. But spiritual is completely different than religious. Your higher power can be whatever you want it to be. For me, it’s about the energy of all living things in the universe. That’s my higher power.
I’m asking this higher power to just help me to do the right thing, and not to use.
I need to reprogram my thinking and use this energy to somehow help me do that one day at a time.
God grant me the serenity.
Day Eighteen.
Friday, June 10, 2005.
Today was a beautiful day. Homewood staff put on a barbecue for patients, as they do every second Friday.
There’s a small building on the lower field, next to the baseball diamond. Kitchen staff brought all the burgers, sausages, hotdogs, toppings, and salads there. The building is nestled in the trees, juxtaposed to the tennis courts and the horseshoe pits. It looked like it was built in the 1800s. I saw a picture of it from the early 1900s on the Homewood wall and I think it might have been a lodge of some type.
The side of the building facing the ball field has a covered porch with four long white benches. I was sitting there watching the festivities when Dancer came and sat beside me. She said, “What are you going to have to eat?” I told her I wasn’t sure. She said, “Well, you could always have me! Ha ha!”
I laughed. We were flirtatious with each other, but nothing was going to come from it. We grabbed some burgers and joined our friends to listen to their ongoing troubles.
I decided to open up about something that’s been bothering me. I told my friends that I was worried about being released because my girlfriend is still using my drug of choice. I did urge her to try and stop while I was here, but she can’t. And she doesn’t seem to want to.
I didn’t tell any of the staff about this because they probably wouldn’t release me back to my home, and I have three children to consider.
Everyone agreed that I was facing an impossible situation. My friends told me that the best I can do is to be an example for Scarlett, and let her see that I’m leading a better life. Hopefully she will reach out and ask me for help.
It felt good to talk about my concerns.
I know Scarlett is sick and doesn’t mean to put me in a bad situation. But I’m responsible for my own recovery. I have to do what I can to keep myself safe because if not? We’ll both likely end up dead.
So many addicts inject themselves, nod off, and never wake up.
Please God don’t let that happen to my Scarlett.
Day Nineteen.
Saturday, June 11, 2005.
A fellow patient (a nurse from BC) came to me today with a proposition. She wanted to travel to Niagara Falls but she didn’t want to go by herself. Someone on staff suggested my name to her because I can’t go home on the weekends anyway. I didn’t want to go with a female alone, so I agreed on the condition that I could invite some other people.
There’s one person here I really want to get to know better. Lonzo. He was admitted a week before me and he is one scary-looking motherfucker. He’s about 6’5” and probably 280 pounds and he just looks angry all the time. He’s the kind of guy you would not want to cross in an alley. You might even cross the street to avoid walking past him.
I can tell he’s been in a lot of rough situations and I’ve been wanting to know more of his story.
He agreed to join us if he could bring a friend. An English guy.
We must have been quite the sight getting in the car today. This middle-aged nurse, me weighing about 155 pounds soaking wet, Lonzo the monster, and the chatty Englishman.
Off we went to Niagara Falls. We all wanted to get a good close look at the falls, so we got on one of the boats, put on our raincoats, and went out almost right underneath the waterfall. What an experience. Seeing the massive amounts of water pouring over the falls made me feel so small and insignificant. I thought about how this feat of nature has been occurring for thousands and thousands of years. I’m just a speck in all of this. But, I’m responsible for this little speck. I realized this is my chance to turn things around. Just like someone who’s been travelling around lost, I have the opportunity now to decide to change my course.
Sometimes I feel like it’s easier to plow ahead even if things are getting worse and worse. I think that’s my ego. Seeing that massive display of water pouring over those rocks made me realize how small yet important I am. My ego needs to be deflated and I have to admit that I need to change.
It probably seemed insignificant to most people, how I accepted the raincoat to go out on that boat today, but taking that cautionary step reminded me of how sensible I am now compared to a few weeks ago. One night while I was drunk, I climbed outside the window of our room in a high-rise hotel and proceeded to walk on a one-foot ledge all around the hotel. I don’t know how I didn’t fall. If I had, I would have plunged to my death.
I remember discovering the bruises on the insides of my thighs from climbing over the glass railings, and realizing I’d done something dangerous and foolish.
Our group became close today. Especially Lonzo and I. We’re so different, but those differences slip away when you talk about your addiction with someone. We’ve come from completely different backgrounds but we’re here in this same place.
I think about that now as I tuck myself into bed.
I wonder if I’d never picked up a substance what my life would be like. Might be better. Might be worse. Something more tragic might have happened to me if I didn’t become an addict. Maybe I would be in a plane crash. Maybe I would have a sick or injured child.
I can’t dwell on things like this. I have to try and enjoy this day. I guess that’s why they tell us to live one day at a time and to not dwell on the past or fear the future.
I enjoyed the splendor of Niagara Falls today with my recovery friends, sober and at peace.
Day Twenty.
Sunday, June 12, 2005.
I think I’ve written before about how we have to attend two meetings on the weekends. What I didn’t me
ntion was how, on Sunday mornings, you can choose church instead of a meeting.
I haven’t been to church in years. I’ve been too ashamed to even walk in front of a church.
I’m a grown-up. A minister’s son who played in churches as a child and listened to countless sermons over my lifetime. When I was using, I felt like a leper and wouldn’t go inside a church. I know it sounds strange, but that’s what I believed.
I decided today would be different.
I made my way down through the grounds of Homewood, walking past the beautiful greenery and flowers. It’s so pretty here.
I exited through the back gate which I suspect at one time was closed. It looked like there was a guard station there in the past.
I meandered through the streets of Guelph and headed up across the footbridge into the town. We weren’t allowed to have our phones so I couldn’t Google anything, so I looked up a Presbyterian Church at Homewood and got the address before I left. All I wanted was to sit in the building and not be noticed, but I enjoyed the service. I found myself singing the hymns and really paying attention to the message.
Singing always makes me feel happier. It’s like a release of energy. And it made me feel at peace today. I didn’t feel tormented or paranoid. I felt happy.
On my way back I met up with some of my friends who were sitting around the smoke pit. Silicon, Dancer, Bear, Young Nurse (a new character in our crew), and I all went for a walk. Young Nurse is fresh out of school and got herself into some trouble I won’t get into. She has a good heart, but being young and beautiful and addicted, she made a great target for some bad people.
We went to the convenience store to get some slushies. I got another bag of Smartfood popcorn. I’ve eaten one every day since I got here. I don’t know why. It hasn’t put any weight on me. I guess it’s all the walking.
I am starting to ramble. I guess today was a bonding day and we have those in recovery sometimes. My emotions are all over the place right now, and I’m getting better at talking about them with my friends instead of burying them, which has only led to trouble for me in the past.
The Golden Boy Page 8